


Stream of stars

by Icandigelvis



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Overdosing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5171327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icandigelvis/pseuds/Icandigelvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan was translucent. Something Kyle could never touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stream of stars

I have no idea where this came from.

I was listening to one of my new-found love interests, the song "Stream of Stars" by Jeff Lynne and then this appeared.

It's an instrumental song, so I **highly recommend listening to it** while reading this. [LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_F84PrPBZU). And here’s a [LINK ](http://www.infinitelooper.com/?v=b_F84PrPBZU&p=n)to it looped.

________________________________

Stan was translucent. Something Kyle never could touch. He would be right in front of him, turning backwards and smiling towards him yet Kyle felt so far away. He would stumble and fumble in the darkness, fall over and crawl but it was all in vain. Stan would stand there, so far away, smiling over his shoulder like everything was okay. And behind him was the universe, the galaxies, the infinities, the world and everything beyond. The stars were exploding, lights dancing and comets falling. And all it seemed to do was make his black hair move in the wind.

It was cruel, what Kyle was doing to himself, but he didn’t understand that at the time. He would get addicted to the little feeling of his chest stinging and the tears threatening to appear. When he was thinking about him, which he did most of the time, he would picture Stan being angry with him, being disappointed, being happy with someone else and throw Kyle away. Somehow he thought he was being realistic, so that he would be prepared when something finally happened, maybe Stan wouldn’t shout or hit him, but he would be disappointed alright. What he was expecting was a reality he knew would come true. Not to the extent. He could imagine it but when the 5th of Marsh rolled around the corner of a warm spring, he wasn’t prepared.

And even as Kyle expected it, for years torturing himself, he was still stricken by fear and shock. All his walls fell down and the icy wind could hit him right in the centre, his walls which he thought were made of stone were merely thin glass. They fell from the first words Stan uttered and the pain was what kept Kyle on his feet, the smile slowly falling from his face.

It wasn’t a quick pain, the sort that disappears a few minutes after you hit your toe on the table leg or when you poke your eye. It lasted, for what Kyle thought would be weeks it lasted for years. Which, in a way, weren’t that many, but it lasted for his lifetime. Which again, wasn’t many years.

Kyle would always look forwards to the day he would get over him, as everyone told him he would and even though he denied it he secretly waited for the day. Like he was going to magically wake up one day and not feel heartbroken. If everyone said he would, he would. That was the simple math, Kyle thought.

Stan had married now, had even awkwardly invited Kyle to come. Kenny had tried to convince him to come. But Kyle was too weak, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to even pretend to be a friend to Stan, a side character, the person waiting in the shadows. That’s why he grew an addiction to go through Stan’s wife’s Facebook frequently, her pictures of Stan what fuelled his body to keep moving. Her pictures of how he was the perfect husband, of what they did together, of where they went, when they celebrated 8 years. Kyle would sit in his dark apartment, biting the insides of his cheeks while he smiled.

It felt good somehow, the cold feeling spreading through him. The pain he was getting used to and it became a familiar feeling. The stinging heartbreak felt like home. Felt like his cold apartment in Denver where he lived. It was familiarity and everything else was scary.

It took Kyle 8 years to realize that he didn’t actually need to keep going. There was no exact reason and he was too old to have a serious existential crisis. He already knew all he lived for was the one person who probably tried to forget his name. Stan was better off without him, Kyle knew that but yet his heart demanded him. He was torn and while he was, he suffered.

So he took an overdose, easy enough, with his diabetes and other illnesses he could easily get the drugs and it all went so peaceful. It didn’t hurt much, because of the numbness. He mostly fell drunk while he sat on his couch, the tv on, showing some animated Christmas movie. Oh, yeah, it was Christmas.

He felt a sting in his stomach and brought his laptop up, checking Facebook. Pictures of Stan by a Christmas tree. Kyle smiled as the familiar pain in his chest filled him, his fingers getting numb. He was so beautiful, Kyle thought. He recognized the sweater as the same one Stan wore the year before. The room was the same, their house together. Kyle had never been there but it looked nice. Warm.

The laptop fell to the floor from his lap and he stared at it in surprise, then looking at his fingers. They were shaking, he realized and stared at them in wonder. He couldn’t move his hands anymore.

“Oh well,” he thought, maybe whispered, and his head rolled back against the couch, his eyes closing.

It was peaceful. It went fast and he felt kind of warm.

At least until he woke up.

Before even opening his eyes he knew what the beeping sound was coming from. He tried taking a couple calm breaths before slowly opening his eyes. He wanted to know if anyone was in the room, his mother most likely.

He was correct, she was reading something, sitting on an old chair by the wall.

The next minutes passed in silence and Sheila never looked up, Kyle didn’t alert her or move, weakly closed his eyes again, willing himself go back to being dead. He was sure he had been there for a while. Because it felt good, he felt happy for a moment, for the first time in 8 years.

Ike walked in through the doors with two coffee cups and placed them on the table when he met Kyle’s eyes. Kyle hated himself when Ike and Sheila started interrogating him, or at least Ike did. His mother had already given up, Kyle knew, he could see it in her eyes. She was tired, she was old and her grey hair falling. Ike was mad, which was to be expected, but he looked good. Kyle realized he hadn’t seen his brother in more than a year, maybe a few, but he looked nice. Maybe it was the black hair, Kyle thought as he let his mind wander away while his little brother spoke.

Leopold called and Kenny showed up. Kenny looked like his father with his moustache, but generally better. He wasn’t exactly holding a wrench or wearing working pants but he basically could have. Kyle sort of expected Robin to turn up, one of the only ones he spoke to at university. He didn’t. But then again Kyle firmly broke their friendship off after he once pointed out Kyle’s obsession with Stan. Kyle was furious and wrecked Robin’s car the next day and they hadn’t spoken since. Robin did perhaps not know Kyle was the culprit but the red-head didn’t care. Robin wasn’t important.

During those years Kyle tried, while he still sat and sulked in his spare time, but he really did try. He met two fairly nice fellows and got raped by a third. Since he shrugged it off, deciding it wasn’t for him. He didn’t want anyone else. He didn’t want someone he forced into Stan traits. So he settled for his spare time engulfing _all_ his time. He would fix elevators and the occasional wheelchair lifts and it made it possible for him to stay in his apartment. He didn’t need much anyway, internet and occasionally food, medicines every now and then. He enjoyed watching The Mentalist sometimes, which he would consider his only hobby. Stan was his full-time job, his life, basically.

Wrapped in blankets he could watch TV for ages, if he wasn’t studying on what was going on in Stan’s life. He got a new lawn mower, Kyle could spot, in the new Instagram picture his wife uploaded. Kyle would sometimes study further, try to find the same model online. This one was from Home Depot and Kyle learned they had two more colours available, green and black. He imaged him and Stan shopping for lawn mowers, discussing the colours.

Kyle got a phone call the same day he was released from the hospital with obligatory appointments to a psychiatrist, it wasn’t said psychiatrist who called however, but an oh so familiar voice. Kyle almost dropped the phone and mumbled a quick “Wait a sec” before tapping quickly on his phone to record the message.

“’M back, sorry.”

“How are you doing?” Stan asked and Kyle knew he was using his stern voice; he didn’t really want to have this conversation. He was still mad with him, which was understandable. Stan was speaking as if to a stranger but with the lack of need to be polite or nice. Stan was always nice to strangers, caring and friendly.

Such an amazing person, Kyle smiled.

“I-I’m fine,” Kyle nodded, putting down his medical bills on the table in his kitchen. It was pitch dark but he rarely turned on many lights in his apartment, he knew his way around so it just felt like a nuisance.

“Well,” Stan said and sighed, like he was forcing the words out, someone telling him to speak them. Like he was reading them on scrips. Kyle could picture his wife standing beside him with crossed arms, the bitch always seemed to care about Kyle.

“I know what happened, Kenny told me. I… uh, I’m really sorry,” he said and while Kyle could hear the lack of sympathy in his words he still smiled, grasping the phone with both hands like it was the most precious thing.

“No need to,” Kyle simply said in a weak voice, smile probably evident to the other.

Stan cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, Wendy is arranging a class reunion next month, she wanted me to call and ask you if you want to come,” he spoke, still sounding annoyed. Probably annoyed that he was the one who had to call Kyle. Kyle the wierdo.

“Oh? Which date?” Kyle asked, trying hard now to not let his voice crack.

“The 21:st. She told you to message her if you plan on going. I and Linn are going.”

The bitch’s name was Linn, right. Kyle had typed it so many times yet he always forgot.

“Okay.”

The line went quiet and Kyle hurriedly tried to think of what things he could ask Stan to keep him on the phone, inhaling sharply.

“W-what- how are you doing?” He hastily asked and he could physically feel the stab of pain in his chest when Stan sighed on the other end, Kyle breaking into a smile again.

“I’m fine. I really have to go now,” he said and Kyle knew he didn’t. But he nodded and bit his thumb, already sitting on his bed. Ready to fall.

“Okay, bye, Stan,” Kyle said in his sweetest voice, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, bye,” Stan said and hung up.

Kyle replayed the message about 20 times before he plugged his phone into the charger and fell asleep.

The bleach was definitely more painful but also went quicker.  
It burned and he cried, it was bloody and it hurt. But it did the trick.

Kyle remembered watching his fingers again, they were twitching against the carpet in front of his face. He hadn’t planned on exiting the world lying flat on the floor, but he couldn’t get up. He was getting giddy, everything foggy and while the acid-y smell was still strong the pain was numbing away with every second.

12:30 on the 28th of June, Kyle Broflovski fell into a final slumber in his apartment. Those who knew him will miss him dearly but all memories of the son, brother and friend with strong dreams will live forever. The newspaper was stashed away in Sheila’s drawer and she occasionally looked at it, sighing. Her little baby. Ike was furious, trying to sue the hospital and the one who put the psychiatrist in charge.

Stan, well, Kyle didn’t know what Stan was up to. Because there, up in his white, warm world he had his own Stan. One who would smile at him and hold his hands, who would laugh with him, press his lips to Kyle’s. Stroke his hair and nudge his nose against his, keep him safe and make him happy.

Kyle finally had his Stan.


End file.
